


The Prophecy; the End of Everything

by CelestialVoid



Series: Persephone and Hades AU [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ancient Greek Religion & Lore Fusion, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BAMF Stiles, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Boys Kissing, Canon-Typical Violence, Derek Hale is Hades, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flirting, Fluff, Gentle Kissing, Hurt Stiles Stilinski, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Hades and Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Stiles Stilinski is Persephone, Violence, Wedding Rings, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:55:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27019168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestialVoid/pseuds/CelestialVoid
Summary: The prophecy stands: when the planets align he will free himself from his cell. The only chance of stopping him is the unity of the Worlds; the child of the Heavens, ruler of the Underworld, and warrior of the Seas.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Persephone and Hades AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1971940
Comments: 56
Kudos: 158
Collections: Sterek Goodness, Where The Fandom Meets The Fandom, Written In The Stars





	1. I

“Stiles,” his father said softly. “It’s time to go.”

“I know, I know,” Stiles replied, the golden glow of his eyes fading back to their natural dark hue as he finished tending to the wilting plant. The trunk straightened and the wilted leaves grew firm, the edges that had been darkened by rot were now vibrant, lush and green.

Stiles rose to his feet and dusted off the front of his robes. He turned to look at his dad, taking in the weary, sad look on the man’s face.

“It’s only a few months,” Stiles assured him, his voice soft as he stepped over to his father’s side. “And you’re welcome to visit.”

“I know, but he does not interrupt your time with me, it would not be fair if I were to interrupt your time with him,” John said. He let out a sigh. “I do miss you.”

“And I miss you,” Stiles replied, pulling his father into a tight hug.

His father pulled back slightly, cupping his son’s cheek as he looked at him. A soft smile lifted the corners of his lips.

“You’d best get going,” his father told him.

“Can I come with you?” Erica asked excitedly.

Stiles looked at her.

She knew he couldn’t say no to her, but others were not allowed to know where the gates to the Underworld were, nor were they permitted to enter unless dead.

“You can walk with me as far as the edge of town,” Stiles compromised.

Erica beamed at him, hurrying to her feet and walking with him through the streets.

The town was quiet at this time of day; the sun was creeping towards the horizon, lighting the sky with smears of pink, purple, blue and orange. The cool breeze of night was chasing away the warmth of day and those who lived in the village were returning home for dinner.

“What’s it like in the Underworld?” Erica asked, pushing back a stray strand of straw-blonde hair that had fallen out of her braid. “Is it as dark, decrepit and gloomy as everyone says it is?”

“Only if your soul is sent to Hades,” Stiles answered. “Otherwise, it’s just like the Surface World… only, below the Surface.”

“And what’s _he_ like?” Erica asked, looking at Stiles curiously.

Stiles fought the urge to smile as he thought about him—Derek.

“Beyond anything you could ever imagine,” Stiles replied fondly.

“What’s it like to be laid at the mercy of a man like him?”

Stiles slowed as they reached the edge of the town.

A coy smirk turned up the corner of Stiles’ lips as a glint of mischief lit his eyes. He glanced over his shoulder at Erica. “What makes you think I’m at his mercy?”

He flashed a smile before turning and walking into the dying light, towards the mountains where the entrance to the Underworld was hidden.

The warmth of daylight faded, the wavering flames of the burning torches lighting his way. The pale silk of his clothes turned black and the golden threads faded to silver, the delicate patterns of towering stalks of wheat, blooming flowers, and twisted vines all standing out against the onyx-black fabric.

The ornate cuffs of golden vines that encircled his arms shimmered brighter than they did in the day as they caught the dim light of the flickering torches.

Flowers bloomed in the wake of his footsteps, their velvety petals as red as blood. The blossoms that were woven into a circlet around his head turned into a crown of ashy thorns and crimson blooms.

The darkness welcomed him as the king returned home.

Cerberus lifted his heads as Stiles approached the gates, his tail wagging excitedly. He wriggled as he scampered to his feet and bounded towards Stiles, sliding to a stop and struggling to sit still.

Stiles wrapped him up in his arms, patting his three heads and he quietly shushed the hound.

When Cerberus calmed down, Stiles stepped past him and through the gates to the Underworld. He made his way through the familiar setting, past the pillars of marble and large doors to his home, and over to the door that led to their bedroom.

The room was surprisingly large and comforting, the walls covered in ornate panelling that was painted black. A tiered chandelier hung from the ceiling, the flames of the candles dim but glinting as they caught the reflection of the shimmering crystals, casting light around the room.

Pies of old books were stacked against the walls—old hardcover books, leather bound journals and other books that looked like antiques, all bound in magnificent colours of scarlet, burgundy, deep green, gold, and grey. The spines of the books were decorated by gold or silver lettering that read the titles, adorned with small metal studs and a few were even fastened with small hinges that looked to be made of brass or silver.

A small wooden chair sat in one corner of the room, a blanket thrown across it. Beside the chair was a small alcove that was decorated by cushions, blankets and a book that had been set aside.

The bed sat in the centre of the room, pushed back against one wall. It was covered in black sheets, soft blankets and a golden silk throw which lay over the figure that lay there, fast asleep.

Stiles couldn’t help but smile as he looked at the man, watching the way his chest rose and fell with his even breaths and his stern features softened by sleep.

He stripped off his clothes, down to his britches. He unwound the golden cuffs from around his surprisingly firm biceps and lifted the crown of thorns and flowers from his head, setting it aside on the chair in the corner of the room.

He stepped over to the other side of the bed. He carefully lifted the blankets, trying not to disturb Derek as he climbed into bed. He lay still, letting his body settle among the familiar sheets.

He heard Derek stir behind him, letting out a weak groan as he shuffled closer to Stiles, wrapping his arm around the young man’s waist and nuzzling his face into the curve of his neck.

Stiles smiled softly as he settled back into the warmth of his husband’s embrace, letting his eyes flutter shut as sleep overcame him.

Derek stirred himself awake, drawing in a deep breath as he slowly blinked his eyes open. He rolled onto his back, untangling himself from the figure that lay beside him and dragging his hands down his face.

Realisation crashed over him like a wave. His eyes flew open wide as he turned to look at the figure lying beside him.

Stiles rolled over, letting out a weak groan as he stirred. He opened his eyes, looking up at Derek and smiling sweetly.

Derek smiled back, cupping Stiles’ cheek as he leant forward and brought their lips together in a sweet, tender kiss.

“When did you get here?” Derek asked.

“Last night,” Stiles answered. “I was hoping my presence wouldn’t disturb you.”

“Your presence is always with me,” Derek said softly. “It makes it impossible for you to disturb me… and highly possible for you to sneak up on me.”

Stiles flashed a mischievous smile.

“Heavens, I’ve missed you,” Derek whispered, leaning forward and bringing his lips to Stiles’ again.

Stiles let his breath fall from his lungs, reaching up, looping his arms around Derek’s neck and pulling him down against him.

Derek shifted atop of Stiles, straddling his waist as he pressed their bodies together. He dropped his hands to Stiles’ waist and pulled him close, enveloping him in his warmth.

One of Stiles’ hands glided up Derek’s arm, up his bicep and across his shoulder blade. His other hand ran up the nape of Derek’s neck, lacing his fingers through Derek’s soft hair.

Derek sighed in return, craning his neck as he deepened the kiss. His hand glided up Stiles’ side, feeling the curves of his waist and the small of his back.

He drew back slowly, gasping for breath.

“The feeling’s mutual,” Stiles said breathlessly.

Derek let out a low chuckle, the sound making Stiles’ heart flutter.

There was a huff under the door, followed by a quiet whimper.

“And I’m not the only one who missed you,” Derek said.

Cerberus let out another heart-breaking whimper, gently pawing at the door.

Derek let out a measured sigh, reluctantly pulling back the blanket and rising to his feet.

A playful smirk played across Stiles’ lips. He pulled the blanket up over his head as Derek reached for the door.

Cerberus came bounding into the room, quickly pulling up to a halt as he realised he couldn’t see Stiles. The smiles fell from his faces as he whipped his heads around, confused. He spun around in circles and paced around the room, looking for Stiles. He wandered back out of the room and in again.

“Where is he?” Derek teased, trying to hide his smirk.

He turned to Derek, tilting his heads in confusion and looking at the man with sad eyes.

Derek let out a low chuckle. He stepped over to the bed and gently patted the mattress, letting Cerberus jump up onto the bed.

The hound gently pawed at the blankets.

Stiles burst into fits of laughter as he pulled the blanket down.

Cerberus dove on Stiles, licking is face and snuggling into his warmth.

Derek couldn’t help but smile as the sound of Stiles’ laughter filled his heart.

There was a bright flash of light.

Derek looked over his shoulder to see Chris standing in the living room.

“I’ll be right back,” he told Stiles, pulling the door almost shut behind himself as he stepped into the large room.

Chris looked tired, his sky-blue eyes shadowed by dark circles and his light brown hair greying with stress.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Derek asked.

“Four days,” Chris said, his voice tense.

Derek let out a soft sigh. “I’ve been down to his cell every day for the past month, there is no weakening.”

“The prophecy still stands,” Chris told him. “When the planets align, the Heavens will go dark and he will free himself from his cell. The only chance we have to stop him is the unity of the Worlds; the child of the Heavens, ruler of the Underworld, and warrior of the Seas.”

“And we will stand together when – or even _if_ – that happens,” Derek said reassuringly.

“I mean no offence, but you’re—”

“Not nearly half the warrior my mother was,” Derek finished. “I know. I also know that my powers will not work beyond the Underworld, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to fight.”

Chris bowed his head.

“I’ll check on him again today,” Derek promised, trying to reassure Chris.

Chris nodded.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“And whatever may come, I have your back.”

Chris looked up at him, his cold eyes softening as he smiled slightly. “And I have yours.”

Derek returned the smile.


	2. II

Tartarus.

The abyss that lay in the furthest depths of the Underworld; the place of the damned.

Derek walked down the hallway that echoed with the screams of the damned, his cloak trailing after him like a shadow. Each wall of the long hallway was lined with cells, the wrought iron bars darkened by the shadows.

Derek slowed before the cell he wanted.

The old man stood proud in the middle of his cell, his back to Derek as he faced the far wall. His snow white hair had thinned out with time, his face wrinkled and worn. He clasped his withered hands behind his back, holding his composure.

Sensing his presence, the man slowly turned to face Derek.

Gerard.

“Four days,” the man warned, his voice deep and threatening.

Derek held his composure.

“You think I’m not going to get out, don’t you?” Gerard asked. He let out a low chuckle, the sound driving ice through Derek’s heart. “When the planets align, I will escape, and when I do, I will wage war against the Heavens—against all those who banished and imprisoned me. I will take—”

“— _take back what’s rightfully mine_ ,” a familiar voice mimicked mockingly from the next cell. “We’ve heard this speech every day for the past six months, give it a break already.”

Derek bit his lip as he tried not to smile. He turned his head slightly, looking into the neighbouring cell where Peter sat in the corner of the cell, resting his back against the wall.

“Hello, nephew,” Peter greeted, his voice soft but bitter. “How’s life treating you?”

Derek ignored him, turning back to Gerard.

“Four days,” Gerard repeated, his voice a lingering threat as he turned his back to Derek again.

Derek didn’t say a word. He glanced at the bars of the cell, the wrought iron reinforced by his powers. He could feel the power running through them, flowing unhindered. There was no sign of wear or weakness.

Reassured, he turned, and made his way back the way he came.

Stiles and Derek sat on the floor in front of the fireplace. Derek had his back against the couch and his arms wrapped around Stiles as they watched the flames dance.

Stiles tilted his head back, resting it against Derek’s shoulder.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, his voice soft.

Derek tilted his head slightly looking at Stiles. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been tense ever since Chris visited this morning,” Stiles pointed out.

Derek let out a measured sigh; he should have known nothing would get past Stiles.

“There’s a prophecy,” Derek explained, his voice quiet. “When the planets align in four days, one of the greatest titans in history will be released from Tartarus. And when that happens, Chris, Deucalion and I will go to war with him.”

Derek bowed his head slightly.

“I’m not nearly half the warrior my mother was, and I don’t know how to control my powers the way she could,” Derek admitted.

“You’re worried you’re not going to make it?” Stiles asked.

“I’m worried I’m going to let everyone down.”

Stiles shifted, turning in Derek’s arms to face him. “You are so much more than you think you are; you are strong, you are powerful, and you are brave.”

Derek met his gaze, watching as the flickering firelight lit his dark eyes, turning them to pools of gold.

“Whatever will happen is destined to happen; we can’t change fate,” Stiles said reassuringly. “But you are not alone.”

Derek felt his heart ache slightly; those words meant more to him than he had realised, especially coming from Stiles.

“Come what may, you will never be alone,” Stiles promised. “And you never will be.”

A soft smile turned up the corners of Derek’s mouth.

Stiles lifted his hand to Derek’s face, gently brushing his fingers across the scruff of whiskers that lined Derek’s jaw. He leant forward, bringing his lips to Derek’s in a tender, loving kiss.

Derek felt his stress melt away. His shoulders dropped as his breath fell from his lungs. His eyes fluttered shut as he leant into the kiss.

Derek drew back slowly, letting a soft smile turn up the corners of his lips as he looked at Stiles lovingly.


	3. III

The raven black fabric of Derek’s robes were draped around his solid form, billowing around him like wisps of smoke and shadows as he made his way down to Tartarus.

Gerard was in the same spot as he always was, standing proudly in the centre of his cell with his back to Derek.

Derek slowed to a stop before the cell, feeling the energy flow through the wrought iron bars.

“You’re running out of time,” Gerard mused.

“ _Three more days until I escape and wreak havoc against the Heavens_ —blah, blah, blah,” Peter mocked from the adjoining cell.

Derek bowed his head, trying to hide the amused smirk. He let out a steady breath and lifted his head to look back at Gerard.

“It is inevitable,” Gerard said, his voice steady. “You cannot escape fate. I just hope you’re ready for what will come.”

He turned around slowly, his cold eyes sending a shiver of dread down Derek’s spine. It took every bit of strength he had to hold his composure.

His heart echoed like thunder in his ears, drumming against his ribs as his breathless lungs were filled with searing pain.

Gerard turned away again, straightening his posture.

Derek drew in a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart. He turned and left, making his way out of Tartarus.

He made his way through the Underworld and back to his home, stepping through the large doors. He stepped into the open room of his home, his eyes drawn towards the flickering light of the burning fireplace.

His feet faltered as he caught sight of the bathtub that had been set in front of the fire, velvety red petals floating across the surface of the water. Stiles lay bare in the water, a leg outstretched over the rim of the tub and a glass of wine in his hand. His moonlight pale skin was lit by the glow of the fire.

“How indecent,” Derek teased.

“I was going to invite you to join me, but since you object…”

A smirk played across Derek’s lips. He stepped down into the lowered lounge room, crossing over to the side of the bath. He sat down beside the bath, taking the glass of wine that Stiles offered him.

Beneath the surface, Derek caught a glimpse of the faded pale pink of the scar on Stiles’ gut.

Stiles sank back in the warm water, sipping at his wine as he shifted slightly and sent ripples across the waves.

Derek looked at him with eyes full of wonder. “You never cease to defy expectations.”

Stiles lifted his glass away from his lips as he asked, “And what expectations are those?”

“Well, you are the God of Spring,” Derek said. “You are a being of innocence and purity.”

A wicked glint flickered in Stiles’ eyes as he leant forward in the tub and levelled his eyes with Derek’s.

“I’m also the god of fertility,” Stiles said, his voice low and sultry. He took another sip of wine, a mischievous smile turning up the corners of his lips.

An amused look passed over Derek’s face as he raised his brow.

Stiles’ smile sweetened as he leant forward, bringing his lips to Derek’s in a tender kiss. He drew back slightly, smirking as Derek leant forward, chasing his lips. He brought their lips together again.

Derek let his breath fall from his lungs as the tension in his body melted away. His eyes fluttered shut as he lifted his hand to Stiles’ face and cupped his cheek, tilting his head as he deepened the kiss.

Stiles drew back, licking his lips and grinning at Derek’s euphoric expression. But the smile on Derek’s face fell and his pale aventurine eyes darkened.

He sat back slightly.

“I’m sorry,” Derek said, his voice soured with regret.

“For what?” Stiles asked.

“The past few months I’ve wanted nothing more than to see you—to spend time with you, but this whole prophecy…” His voice trailed off.

“Derek,” Stiles said softly, craning his neck to meet Derek’s gaze. “It’s okay. You can’t change what’s happening, and I’ll still be here when it’s all over.”

“I feel torn,” Derek admitted. “If I focus on the prophecy, I feel guilty for not spending time with you, but when I spend time with you, I can’t stop thinking about the prophecy and I can’t stop feeling like I should be doing more to stop it.”

“Derek, I understand. I know you can’t spend time with me right now, but once this is over, it’ll just be the two of us and we can do whatever we want to do. Until then, we focus on the immediate threat and when it gets too much, I’ll be here.”

Derek met his gaze, his aventurine eyes softening.

“I love you,” Derek whispered.

“I love you too,” Stiles said. He sat back in the bath tub, the water rippling around his body. “And the offer to join me still stands.”


	4. IV

The day of fate arrived.

Derek stormed into Tartarus wearing his armour; a silver chest plate strapped to his torso and matching gauntlets clasped to his forearms, the metal decorated with fine filigree. He wore a black tunic, the dark cape attached to his shoulders and flowing behind him like a blanket of shadows. A silver helmet cast a shadow over his face, the arches of the silver plating accentuating his sharp cheek bones and his pale eyes that flickered with a crimson glow. He carried a bident, the elegant handle decorated with patters of spiralling metal and blood-red rubies that sat comfortably in his grip.

He slowed before Gerard’s cell.

The man turned to face him, his dark eyes narrowing as he glared at Derek.

“I see you’re dressed for war,” Gerard said. “I just hope you’re ready for what’s about to come.”

Derek held his composure.

He felt the power of the universe swell as the planets drew closer to aligning.

There was a surge of power.

The cell blew out with enough force to throw Derek back. He struck something solid, letting out a pained grunt before collapsing to the ground. His body ached, unmoving as rubble and debris crashed over him. The curved edge of his helmet sliced through his tanned skin, leaving a trail of warm blood streaming across his cheek.

He let out a weak groan, blinking heavily as he struggled to compose himself. His head rang, his body aching as he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. He brushed the debris off of himself and turned to look at the cell.

His heart sank into his throat, a sickening wave of terror washing over him.

The prophecy had come true: Gerard was gone.

Derek grabbed his bident, warping into a wisp of black smoke as he teleported to the Surface.

He sprinted across the grassy knoll to where Chris and Deucalion stood.

“He escaped,” he told them.

Chris’ pale eyes widened with worry. He reached out, gently taking a hold of Derek’s jaw and turning the young man’s head to look at his bloodied cheek. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s just a scratch,” Derek said dismissively.

There was a loud crack as a swell of dark clouds rolled in, casting darkness across the land. Flashes of lightning lit the skies.

Chris, Deucalion and Derek turned to the figure who stood across the field from them, standing proudly in his gleaming golden armour. He held a sickle in each hand, the curved blade gleaming as it caught the light of the flashing lightning.

The next flash of lightning lit his face; his black eyes staring down his opponents as a smug grin turned up one side of his mouth.

Deucalion swung his trident around in his hand. “Ready?”

Derek drew in a deep breath, tightening his grip on his bident. “Ready.”

Chris nodded. “Let’s do this.”

Stiles sat on the couch before the fireplace, his knees pulled up to his chest. He shifted anxiously, the overwhelming feeling making it harder for him to breath. His chest felt tight and his lungs burnt for air.

There was a flicker of light as a figure emerged from the fire.

“What’s wrong, dear?” Talia asked, her voice soft as she crossed over to the couch and sat down across from Stiles.

“I don’t know what to do,” Stiles admitted.

“What do you mean?”

“What if the prophecy is wrong?” Stiles asked. “What if it takes more than just the three of them to win this fight?”

He rose from his seat, pacing back and forth.

“I hate just waiting here; helpless,” Stiles said. “I know I have to stay here because the Underworld needs a ruler in order to hold the cells of Tartarus closed, but I—”

“Cerberus can stop any souls from escaping the Underworld,” Talia told him. “And I still have a hold over Tartarus.”

“Are you saying I should go?”

“I’m saying you should do what you think is right.”

Gerard adjusted his grip on his sickle, blocking Deucalions’ attack. He hooked the blade of his sickle under the staff of Deucalion’s trident, tearing the weapon from the man’s hands; disarming him. He swept the blade under Deucalion’s ankles, knocking him off balance and throwing him to the floor.

He turned to Chris, stepping aside as the man charged at him. He slammed the hilt of his sickle into Chirs’ back, knocking him to the ground.

He swiftly spun around and planted his boot in Derek’s gut, knocking him off balance. He spun around again and slammed the heel of his boot against the side of Derek’s face, dropping him to the ground.

Derek hit the earth with a pained grunt. He gritted his teeth and pushed himself back onto his feet He grabbed his bident and swung it around, catching Gerard’s wrist and knocking one of his sickles from his grasp.

Gerard caught him off guard, cutting upwards with his other hand and tearing the bident from Derek’s hands. He slammed his hand into Derek’s throat, lifting the young man off his feet.

Tears pricked Derek’s eyes as his breath caught in his throat.

“And here I thought you might actually be a challenge,” Gerard said mockingly. “But I was mistaken. You’re not a warrior like your mother; you’re a child. You have no control outside your domain. You’re weak. You’re helpless. And this is where I end you.”

There was a vicious snarl as a blazing light tore between the two of them.

Derek fell to the ground, coughing and spluttering as he gasped for air.

Orange embers drifted around him. He pushed himself upright to see the hellhound dig their feet into the ground, their blazing body lighting the darkness as they charged at Gerard.

Derek watched in confusion.

“I thought you couldn’t control the Hellhounds from the Surface?” Chris questioned.

“I can’t,” Derek admitted.

Gerard caught the hellhound, tossing them aside as he turned in the direction from which the creature had come

A figure stood on the far side of the field, draped in black cloth with coils of golden leaves around his firm arms. His eyes were lit with a golden glow, his power coursing through his veins. The darkness shifted around him as he walked across the field towards them.

“Stiles,” Derek gasped.

Stiles held his hand out, the earth trembling as thick, twisted roots tore through the dirt and coiled around Gerard’s arms and legs.

He thrashed about, slashing at the roots with his sickle. He tore himself free and turned to face Stiles.

He tightened his grip on his weapon and charged.

Stiles moved his hand swiftly, drawing twisted roots from the earth and deflecting his attacks.

Gerard lunged at him.

Stiles spun into his arms and slammed his elbow into the man’s face, the sickening crack of bone ringing in his ears.

Gerard staggered backwards.

Stiles held out his hand.

A fierce roar filled the air as the hellhound lunged at Gerard.

The man’s sickle sliced through the hellhound’s gut, shattering the beast into glowing embers that dwindled into the air—returning him to the underworld.

Chris, Deucalion, and Derek watched, stunned.

“Child of the Heavens, ruler of the Underworld,” Deucalion recited, piecing it together. He reached out and grabbed his trident. “Stiles!”

Stiles turned.

Deucalion tossed his trident to him.

Stiles caught it, adjusting his grip on the staff and swinging it. The end of the pole collided with Gerard’s cheek with the gut wrenching sound of breaking bone as blood was spilt across the damp earth.

Gerard staggered back, lifting his hand to his face and running his fingers across his cheek. He looked down at his hand, staring in horror and astonishment at the blood that coated his fingers. He looked up at Stiles.

Stiles stood still for a second, his dark eyes burning with a golden glow as he focused his unyielding glare on Gerard.

The man’s eyes darkened.

He charged at Stiles.

The clash of metal against metal rang out across the field like the crack of thunder overhead as the man’s sickles collided with Stiles’ trident.

Stiles spun the trident around in his arms, pinning Gerard’s wrist between the prongs and twisting it, tearing the sickle from his hand.

Gerard caught him off guard, using his other hand to hook the curved blade of his other sickle around the staff of the golden trident and tear it from Stiles’ hold.

With a swift movement, he knocked Stiles to the ground, pressing his boot to the young man’s throat and pinning him against the cold earth.

Stiles held his arm out, desperately trying to grab the trident that lay just out of his reach. He yielded, looking up at Gerard.

“Why are you doing this?” he rasped.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Gerard scoffed.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“I want what’s mine,” Gerard said. “I want revenge.”

A mischievous smirk turned up the corner of Stiles’ lips. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

He pressed his hands to the earth, his power coursing through him as roots tore through the earth, ensnaring Gerard. The brown twisted roots seemed to glow with crimson embers as the power of the Underworld flowed through them.

They coiled around Gerard, tightening into a vice grip and dropping him to his knees.

Stiles rose to his feet, standing proudly as he looked at him defiantly.

Gerard looked at him, mortified. “Who are you?”

“I am Stiles Stilinski. God of Spring, King of the Underworld, and the one you pray to for revenge.”

Gerard’s eyes widened with terror.

The earth beneath their feet trembled, cracks shattering the ground as the darkness of the Underworld reached up for him.

Gerard grabbed the blade at his side, treating through the roots and slashing at Stiles as the shadows pulled him into the Underworld.

The darkness faded.

The earth stilled.

The sun broke through the clouds, bathing the sky in light.

Derek pushed himself to his feet, staggering over to Stiles.

“Stiles?”

The young man didn’t move.

HIs dark eyes had returned to their natural hue, glistening as they welled with tears.

Derek felt a lump in his throat. His heart hammered against his ribs as he rushed to Stiles’ side.

Stiles held his hand to his stomach, streams of blood coursing over his pale skin. He began to sway, weakening.

Derek caught him before he collapsed, pressing his hand to the large gash across Stiles’ stomach.

“Get him to the Underworld,” Chris instructed, crouching beside them. “He’ll be safe there. I’ll get his father.”

Derek nodded, lifting Stiles into his arms as he morphed into a wisp of black smoke and teleported to the Underworld.

He rematerialised before the fire, carrying Stiles over to the couch and laying him down on the cushions.

The young man’s face was soaked with sweat, his dark hair clinging to his pale skin. His dark eyes were dreary and unfocused, his tears leaving dam trails across his cheeks.

Derek reached forward and gently brushed back the hair that clung to Stiles’ forehead, trying to hide his panic as he whispered, “You’re going to be okay. Just hold on.”

Gerard pushed himself up off the ground, looking around at the familiar surroundings of his cell in Tartarus.

“So,” Peter’s sing-song voice rang out from the adjacent cell, “how did it go?”

“I may have failed this time,” Gerard said, dusting himself off, “But I will succeed next time.”

“What makes you so sure of that?” Peter asked.

“Because I have destroyed their only chance of stopping me,” Gerard said proudly. “I have killed the child of the Heavens, Ruler of the Underworld.”

“Child of the Heavens, ruler of the Underworld…” Peter muttered to himself, piecing it together.

He felt a spike of terror tear through him.

“Stiles,” he whispered.

He bolted up from his seat, throwing himself at the bars of his cell.

His cry rang out through the Underworld.

“Talia!”

John knelt beside his son’s still body, his eye lit with a golden glow as he tried to heal the bloody wound. The firelight lit the tears that glistened in his fear-filled eyes.

“I can’t heal him,” he uttered. “It’s not working. I don’t understand. Why can’t I heal him?”

There was a rush of air as two figures morphed out of the fireplace.

“Because he’s no longer only of the Heavens,” Peter said as Talia guided him forward.

“What are you doing here?” Chris growled.

“I want to help,” Peter replied, his voice quiet and almost pleading.

“What do you mean he’s no longer of the Heavens?” John asked, cutting in.

“He is as bound to the Underworld as he is to the Heavens,” Peter explained. “You need to use the powers of the Heavens _and_ the Underworld in order to heal him.”

John looked to Derek.

A heartbroken look passed over Derek’s face. “I don’t know how to do that.”

“But I do,” Peter said.

“Tartarus drained your powers,” Chris reminded him.

“I can draw on Derek’s powers and use that to heal Stiles,” Peter explained. He looked at his nephew. “Please. Let me help.”

Derek thought about it for a moment. He swallowed hard and nodded, moving aside slightly and letting Peter kneel beside Stiles.

“You’d better not try anything,” Chris warned, his voice low and threatening.

Peter looked at John. “Try healing him at the same time as me.”

John nodded.

Peter held his hand out. Derek took his hand, feeling the cold rush as the power flowed from him to Peter.

Peer’s eyes flickered red for a moment. He held his other hand over Stiles’ wound, letting the power flow through him.

John mirrored him, his eyes lighting up again.

Slowly, Stiles’ wound began to stitch back together again, the wound closing and leaving only the smears of blood across his stomach.

Stiles drew in a deep breath, his breathing settling as colour returned to his cheeks.

John let out a sigh of relief.

Peter let out a slow breath, letting go of Derek’s hand and moving back. He collapsed back against the nearby armchair, his face drained and his body weak.

“Peter?” Derek asked, glancing over at his uncle.

“I’m fine,” he said weakly.

“Let’s get you back to your cell,” Talia said softly.

Peter nodded, struggling to push himself upright.

“Come on,” Chris said quietly, helping him to his feet and walking him towards the doors that lead to the Underworld.

Derek watched them leave before turning his eyes back to Stiles. He gently brushed back the hairs that clung to Stiles’ forehead, letting out a breath that he didn’t know he’d been holding.


	5. V

Peter’s feet stumbled beneath him as Chris helped him back into his cell. He walked him over to the bunk in the corner of the room and laid him down before turning to leave.

Talia waited until he left before sealing the cell bars and crossing over to her brother’s side.

“What happened to you, Peter?” she asked, her voice soft and patient.

“Do you remember how our parents used to tell us that power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely? I used to think it was just all talk. But I was wrong.”

Peter looked up at her.

“I wanted more power, and that power ended up driving me mad; it drove me to do things that I would have never done. It’s only now that I’m here – where Tartarus drains my powers – that I’m finally thinking clearly… It’s now that I realise what I’ve done.”

Tears welled in his azure blue eyes.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he said, his voice breaking as his glistening tears rolled down his cheeks. “You’re my sister. Laura and Cora are my nieces. You’re my family… I would give anything to undo what I’ve done. I’d give anything to get you back... I’m sorry.”

“I know,” Talia whispered.

She reached out and gently ran her hand over Peter’s hair the way she would when she would comfort him after a nightmare when they were younger.

“I’ll stay here forever; it’s what I deserve,” Peter said quietly.

Talia looked down at him, her eyes softening.

“I’m sorry,” Peter said quietly, his eyes falling shut as exhaustion took a hold of him. “I’m sorry.”


	6. VI

Stiles’ frail body lay nestled among the piles of blankets and sheets that covered the bed. His dark eyelashes fluttered as he slept, his chest rising and falling with steady breaths. Every now and then he would flinch or wince.

Derek sat down on the edge of the bed next to Stiles. He took the boy’s hand in his own. Derek’s eyes glowed crimson red, the veins of his arms darkening as he took the Stiles’ pain.

Stiles let out a soft sigh, his body relaxing as he sank back against the sheets.

Derek waited for a moment, watching the young man’s chest rise and fall, his breathing steadying as he succumbed to sleep. He let go of Stiles’ hand, sitting back on the mattress.

There was a rush of air as someone teleported into the Underworld.

Derek straightened, turning to see John appear in the living room. He rose from Stiles’ side, rubbing his arm slightly as the pain began to subside.

“I’m sorry,” John said as Derek stepped into the open room. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“Nonsense,” Derek replied. “You’re always welcome here.”

John looked over Derek’s shoulder to the small figure that lay still in the bed. “How is he?”

“Resting,” Derek said. “He’s still weak but he’s getting stronger. He’s going to be okay.”

“I know,” John said, looking at Derek. His hazel green eyes softened. “I know you’ll take good care of him.”

A small smile turned up the corner of Derek’s lips.

John’s eyes flicked down to the fading black veins on Derek’s arm, his brow furrowing with worry. “Are you alright?”

Derek followed his gaze. “I’m fine. I was just taking away some of Stiles’ pain so he could rest a little easier.”

“You really do care for him, don’t you?” John asked.

Derek nodded. “I love him.”

“Then why have you not asked him?”

“Asked him what?”

“Why have you not asked him to marry you?” John asked.

Derek bowed his head, dropping his gaze to the ground. “I’ve thought about it.”

He stepped over to the fireplace and picked up a small dark wood box he had hidden behind the stack of old leather-bound books. He opened it, showing Derek the ring made of silver and gold—the strands of metal engraved with the patterns of vines and leaves and intertwined in a braid. The perfect combination of the two worlds.

“It’s beautiful,” John said.

“Believe me, I want to marry him,” Derek said, his voice saddened as he added, “but I cannot.”

“Why?”

“He spends his time torn between two worlds,” Derek said, setting the box back in its hiding place. “I don’t want to make that worse for him.”

“Have you ever considered it might make it better for him?” John asked.

Derek’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“Did you consider that it might make him feel better to have a part of you with him when he’s on the Surface, and know you’ll be here when he returns?”

Derek thought about it.

“Derek, if there’s one thing that I am certain of, it’s that Stiles loves you,” John told him.

“He’s right,” a familiar voice said, making them both jump.

They turned to see Stiles standing in the doorway. His dark brown hair was tousled by sleep. His dark eyes sparkled as they caught the flickering light of the fireplace.

“Hi, Dad,” Stiles greeted as he stepped over to his father’s side and hugged him.

“Hey, kiddo,” John said, holding his son close. “How do you feel?”

“I feel a lot better,” Stiles answered.

“You really scared us,” John admitted.

Stiles offered him a sweet smile. “You’ve still got me.”

Derek’s expression darkened, his eyes dropping to the floor.

John looked at the young man. “Yeah, _we_ do.”

Derek met his gaze. Stiles hadn’t picked up on the emphasis of the word but he had. A small smile turned up the corner of Derek’s mouth.

John nodded to him, stepping back from Stiles’ side.

Derek drew in a level breath.

“Stiles,” he started slowly, his voice quiet and unsteady. “I love you—and I’m not saying that because we nearly lost you. I love you, more than words could ever explain and I want nothing more than to spend the rest of eternity with you, even if it is only for a few months each year. You took my broken heart and you made it whole again. I love you, Stiles.”

“I love you too,” Stiles whispered.

“I’ve been hesitant about this,” Derek admitted. “Not because I’m unsure, but because I didn’t want you to feel any more torn between two worlds.”

He stepped back over to the fireplace, pulling the small wooden box out of its hiding place. He opened the box and lowered himself onto one knee.

“Stiles Stilinski, will you marry me?”

“Yes,” Stiles answered without a beat of hesitation.

Derek let out a sigh of relief, a bright smile lighting up his face.

Wisps of smoke drifted from the fire, circling around them as figures emerged. Talia, Laura and Cora appeared.

A fourth figure emerged, her long dark hair falling around her shoulders as she stepped into the light of the room. Her eyes were golden brown, sparkling like the gold bracelets and cuffs on her arm.

John’s breath caught in his lungs, his heart skipping as her name fell past his lips. “Claudia.”

“Hello, my love,” she said softly as she stepped over to his side and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

“What are you doing here?” Derek asked, stunned but still smiling.

“Nothing could stop us from attending your wedding, not even death” Laura said.

Derek’s smile softened as he looked at his sister.

Talia nodded, urging him on.

Derek turned back to Stiles, taking his hands in his own.

“Stiles, you are my best friend, my soulmate, my everything. I promise to love you until my last breath and beyond death. I promise to protect you from harm and to comfort you in times of need. I love you more and more with every passing day. I give you my heart, if you’ll take it.”

Stiles nodded, blinking back glistening tears that welled in his eyes.

Derek gently took Stiles’ hand and slid the ring onto Stiles’ finger.

Stiles bolted upright, a look of horror on his face. “Wait, I don’t have a ring for you.”

“Yes, you do,” John interrupted. He slid the golden band from his finger and offered it to his son.

“I can’t take that,” Stiles said. “It’s yours.”

“I want you to have it.”

Stiles took the ring from his father, looking at him gratefully.

John smiled sweetly.

Stiles stepped back over to Derek’s side, taking Derek’s hand in his own.

“Derek, you’ve turned my world upside down in the best way possible. You’ve filled my life with love and light and I don’t want to imagine what it would be like without you. I love you, Derek. My heart is yours and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. That is, if you’ll have me.”

“How could I ever say no?” he answered, letting Stiles slide the ring onto Derek’s finger.

Stiles took Derek’s face in his own hands, bringing their lips together in a sweet kiss.

John cleared his throat. “With the powers of the Heavens—”

“And the Underworld,” Talia added.

“We bless this unity,” John finished.

Stiles and Derek let out a quiet chuckle as Stiles brought their lips together again.

Derek set his hands on Stiles’ waist, pulling him closer as he enveloped him in his warmth. He lifted one hand to Stiles’ face, gently cupping his cheek as he tilted his head slightly and deepened the kiss.

Stiles’ arms slid around Derek’s shoulder, looping around the young man’s neck as he held him close.

They drew back slowly, resting their foreheads against one another as they let out breathless laughs, unable to stop smiling.

Talia looked over to Claudia.

“It’s time,” she said, quietly—almost apologetically.

Claudia nodded. She turned and took John’s hand in her own. She ran the ball of her thumb over his bare finger where the years of wear had left its mark.

“Forgive me,” John whispered.

Claudia smiled up at him. “It’s about time you took it off.”

“My heart will always belong to you,” John said.

“And mine with you.”

Claudia stepped back, stepping over to Talia’s side.

John watched them leave, the outlines of their figures dissipating as their bodies dissolved into smoke.

A glistening tear rolled down John’s cheek.

“You’re welcome to visit, any time you’d like,” Derek said, his voice soft and quiet.

John brushed away the tear, looking up at Derek with gratitude. “Thank you.”


	7. VII

Stiles picked up the black cotton vest that he had been laid across the blankets, embroidered with silver and gold. Shining gems were fitted into the detailed lace, tracing out patters of leaves, vines, and flowers. The embroidery ran across the chest and along the hem. Beside it lay a pair of pants.

He stripped out of his robes, feeling the soft cotton brush against his skin as he undressed. He picked up the black pants, pulling them on and fastening them around his slender waist.

He caught his reflection in the mirror and froze, his eyes focused on the faded red mark that ran across his stomach and the fading pale pink scar beside it.

He felt his heart sink, a heavy weight settling in his chest.

His hands trembled as he brushed his fingers across the raised ridges, feeling the smooth scarred flesh. He flinched slightly as his fingers pressed against a tender part of the healing wound.

“You’re still beautiful,” Derek said, his voice soft.

Stiles turned to see him standing in the doorway, looking at Stiles lovingly. He bowed his head, picking up the vest and pulling it on.

“If your scars were lined with gold, would they not be beautiful?”

“I suppose,” Stiles muttered.

“Then why are they not as beautiful now?” Derek asked.

Stiles didn’t answer. He dropped his gaze.

“Your scars are a sign of strength,” Derek said, walking over to Stiles’ side. “They’re proof that you survived.”

He slid his finger beneath Stiles’ chin, gently coaxing him to lift his head and meet Derek’s soft gaze.

“You are strong and you are beautiful.”

A small smile turned up the corners of Stiles’ lips.

Derek leant forward and pressed a tender kiss to his lips.

“Can I go to Tartarus?” Stiles asked.

Derek was taken aback slightly. “Yes.”

Stiles nodded. “I’d like to go.”

“Alright,” Derek agreed.

The halls of Tartarus echoed with the screams of the damned, but the sound didn’t seem to faze him.

The shadows welcomed their king as he made his way down the hall.

He slowed to a stop before Gerard’s cell, looking in on the man who stood proudly with his back to the cell.

Gerard seemed to sense him, his head tilting slightly with confusion. He turned around slowly, his dark eyes widening as he stared at Stiles in shock and horror.

“Surprise,” Stiles said teasingly, flashing a mischievous smile.

“How are you still alive?” Gerard seethed.

“It takes a lot more than that to kill me,” Stiles said. “You should ask the man in the next cell; he tried to kill me twice and I’m still here.”

Gerard’s face twisted with rage.

A smug smile turned up the corners of Stiles’ lips as he turned and stepped over to Peter’s cell.

The man sat in the corner of the small room, staring into oblivion and lost in thought.

“Hello, Peter,” Stiles said, voice soft.

Peter bolted upright, looking at Stiles. His face softened as a small smile played on his lips.

“I’m glad to see you’re alright,” Peter greeted.

“Thanks to you.”

Peter bowed his head. “I never meant to hurt you or Derek. I wasn’t myself.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter said.

“I forgive you.”

Stiles looked down at the pile of books he held—four leather-bound books decorated with metal brackets and embossing.

“I brought these for you,” Stiles said. “I thought eternity would pass a little easier if you had something to do.”

He reached forward, feeling a buzz of static against his skin as his arm passed through the bars. He set the books down.

“Thank you,” Peter said.

“I’ll bring some more by before I leave for the Surface,” Stiles promised.

“I don’t deserve your kindness,” Peter said.

“Everybody deserves kindness,” Stiles replied. “You’re a good man, Peter. You just lost your way.”

Peter bowed his head.

Stiles let out a measured breath and turned to leave.

“Congratulations,” Peter called after him.

Stiles turned, his brow furrowed with confusion.

“On your marriage,” Peter clarified. “I wish you nothing but happiness.”

Stiles smiled. “Thank you.”


	8. VIII

Weeks later, the time came for Stiles to return to the Surface. Derek walked him to the entrance at the base of the cliffs, watching as his black robes changed to white and the silver jewellery he word darkened to gold.

The soft breeze blew through the tousled mess of his hair, his dark eyes catching the light and sparkling like golden liquor. The fabric of his robes billowed around him, the faint hem of golden embroidery glittering as it moved. The crown of black thorns and blood red roses turned into a halo of olive leaves, soft roses, pale peonies, and sprigs of baby’s breath. Coils of vines and golden cuffs wound their way around his slender arms, small buds and blossoming flowers making his pale skin seem radiant.

The only thing that remained silver was the braided metal of his wedding ring—that would stay with him until he returned.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” Stiles promised.

“You’re always with me,” Derek reminded him.

He leant forward and brought his lips to Stiles’ in a tender, loving kiss. He drew back slowly, savouring the moment.

Stiles smiled sweetly at him as he stepped into the glow of sunlight.

Derek watched him go, watching as the world was bathed in golden light, flowers blooming in his wake as he returned life to the earth.

He made his way back into the Underworld, spinning the golden band of his wedding ring around his finger.

He still had a part of Stiles with him, always.

He drew in a steady breath and returned to his duties. He made his way past the large doors that lead into the depths of the Underworld and made his way to Tartarus.

“Enjoy your victory while you can,” Gerard told him, sensing Derek’s presence. “You are the last of your bloodline, and without an heir, there will be no ruler of the Underworld. When my time comes again, the Prophecy will fail. You are the last child of the Underworld.”

“That’s not exactly true,” Peter interjected from the next cell.

Derek took a step to the side, looking at his uncle with a stunned expression. “You fathered a child?”

“There is a child soon to be born,” Peter admitted. “ _My_ child… Their mother does not want them and agreed to leave the child at the foot of the mountains on the Spring solstice.”

Derek nodded.

“Derek, I know I’m in no place to ask you for favours,” Peter said. “But I also know that you would be a better father than I could ever be. Please...”

Derek nodded.

Peter let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”


	9. IX

The cool spring breeze rolled through the open field, the sweet smell of petrichor filling the air as the tall stalks of golden wheat swayed and danced in the breeze.

Stiles trailed his hands through the stalks, watching as the soft wheat slid through this fingers like ribbons of water. Veins of gold trailed after him as he wove this way through the flourishing crops.

Along the edges of the field, colourful flowers blossomed, filling the undergrowth with bursts of colour: white, purple, yellow, and blue. Crystal-like droplets of dew gathered on the wavering blades of grass and delicate flowers grew along the edge of the dirt path, glistening as they caught the sunlight.

Birds tweeted as they glided through the air and nested in the trees.

Stiles wandered through the fields, feeling the sunlight bathe his skin and fill his veins with warmth. He closed his eyes and lifted his face to the sun, letting the cool shadows of passing clouds caress his skin with a faint touch that reminded him of Derek. A small smile turned up the corner of his mouth.

A strange noise disturbed the quiet.

Stiles opened his eyes, turning towards the sound.

It was a quiet whimper; a broken cry.

Stiles walked over to the craggy face of the slate cliffs. He found a small bundle of blankets nestled among a few rocks.

He gently picked it up, lifting the top of the blanket away to reveal a small child, barely a few weeks old.

They looked pale and weak, struggling to open their dark brown eyes.

“You poor thing,” Stiles whispered, gently stroking the child’s cheek with the back of his finger. “Let’s get you some help.”

Stiles shifted his hold on the child, cradling them to his chest as he made his way back through the fields and into town.

“Dad,” he called out as he stepped into John’s house. “I need some help.”

John turned, his eyes widening with sock and fear when he saw the child in Stiles’ arms.

“Sit down,” John instructed, pointing towards the nearby bench.

Stiles crossed the room and sat down, gently bouncing the baby in his lap as he tried to soothe their quiet sobs.

“I’ve got you,” Stiles whispered—a promise.

John brought over a bowl of goat’s milk and a small rag. He soaked the edge of the rag in the milk and held it to the child’s lips, but the child didn’t suckle. They screwed up their face and cried louder.

John let out a sigh, holding his hand to the child’s chest. His eyes lit up with a golden glow as he tried to heal the child’s malnourishment, but nothing happened.

“I don’t understand,” John said, his brow furrowed as he stared at the child in confusion. “My power has no effect on them.”

There was a rush of air as a shadowy figure appeared in the corner of the room.

“That’s because she is a child of the Underworld,” Derek explained, walking over to Stiles’ side.

“Something you want to tell us?” John asked, levelling Derek with a suspicious look.

“Peter fathered the child, not me,” Derek said.

He crouched before the child and set his hand on her chest. His eyes flickered red for a second and the child’s sobs faded away. Her dark eyes opened as she looked up at Derek with wonder.

“What will we do with her?” John asked.

“Peter has asked me to raise her,” Derek explained, looking up at Stiles with a silent question.

Stiles smiled back at him—the answer to his question.

“What if she’s not a child of the Underworld?” John asked.

“I will take her to the Underworld, and if I am wrong then I will keep her soul safe until we can work out what’s wrong with her,” Derek promised.

John let out a measured sigh and nodded.

“Could we come to visit her tomorrow?” John asked, hesitantly asking for permission. “To see if she is alright.”

“Of course,” Derek replied.

Stiles looked down at the child, smiling as he gave them one last hug before handing her over to Derek.

Derek lifted her into his arms, cradling her to his chest.

She let out a quiet coo before snuggling into his warmth.

Stiles couldn’t help but smile, looking at the both of them lovingly.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Stiles said.

“See you tomorrow,” Derek replied with a soft smile before vanishing into a wisp of dark smoke.


	10. X

Derek sat before the fireplace, lying down on the rug beside a small blanket on which the baby laid. She giggled, cooed and squirmed, wriggling about on her back as she played with a few toys Derek had found.

Her chubby little fingers were wrapped around the small wooden toy dog, squishing her face up in delight as she waved it about.

Derek couldn’t help but smile and chuckle as he watched her play.

There was a rush of air as two figures appeared in the large room.

Derek looked up, smiling as he saw Stiles and John step forward.

Stiles’ face lit up when he saw the baby, hurrying around the couch and laying down on the rug beside the baby.

She reached out for him, wrapping her hand around one of Stiles’ fingers and smiling toothlessly up at him.

“How is she?” John asked.

“She’s perfectly healthy,” Derek said, pushing himself up off the floor and rising to his feet. “It might be a little while before she’s able to go to the Surface without ill effects, but she’s going to be okay.”

“That’s good to hear,” John said, watching his son play with the baby. “Have you got a name for her yet?”

“Malia,” Derek answered.

“Beloved and brave,” Stiles said.

He looked over his shoulder at his dad and Derek, taking in their confused expressions.

“That’s what Malia means,” Stiles explained. “Well, it’s one of the meanings, but I don’t think ‘sea of bitterness’ suits her.”

He wiggled his finger, playing with Malia.

“Would you mind watching her for a moment?” Derek asked. “There’s something I need to do.”

“Of course,” Stiles said.

“I’ll be back soon,” Derek said as he headed towards the large doors that led further into the Underworld.

Stiles sat up, wrapping the blanket around Malia as she yawned. He held her close to his chest and cradled her in his arms.

She turned slightly, pressing her cheek into Stiles’ warmth. Her little hands furled into a fist as she clutched at the soft silk of Stiles’ shirt.

Stiles rocked slightly, soothing Malia.

A moment later, Derek returned with Peter by his side.

Peter’s pace faltered as his eyes fell on the child.

Derek stepped over to Stiles’ side, helping his husband to his feet.

“Do you want to meet your daughter?” Stiles asked, taking a step closer to Peter.

“Daughter?” Peter said breathlessly.

Stiles nodded.

“Can I?” Peter asked.

Stiles adjusted his hold on Malia, letting Peter hold her.

Malia looked up at Peter with love and wonder, their dark brown eyes sparkling golden brown in the light of the fireplace. Her little fingers furled and unfurled them again.

Peter gently brushed his finger against the palm of her hand, smiling as Malia gently grasped his finger.

Peter looked down at them, blinking back tears and smiling sweetly.

“You’ll look after her?” Peter asked, looking up at Stiles and Derek.

Stiles nodded.

“We will,” he promised.

“Then I know she’ll be okay.”

He looked down at Malia.

“I’m sorry I won’t be there for you,” he said softly. “I won’t be there to watch you grow and become the person you are to become. But I cannot think of two better people to raise you. They’ll teach you love and patience. They’ll teach you that strength comes from courage and kindness. You’ll know what it means to feel safe. You’ll grow and become someone better than I could ever dream of; but I will dream of you every night.”

A glistening tear rolled down Peter’s cheek. He leant forward and pressed a soft kiss to Malia’s forehead.

Malia reached up and brushed her chubby fingers against Peter’s cheeks.

A small smile turned up the corners of his mouth as he looked down at her lovingly.

“You’re going to do great things, little one,” he whispered.

He looked up at Stiles and Derek, adjusting his hold on Malia and passing her back to Stiles.

He turned to Derek, his eyes filled with gratitude. “Thank you.”

Derek nodded.

Peter turned back towards the gates, letting Derek escort him back to Tartarus. He glanced back over his shoulder, smiling as he watched as Stiles cradled Malia to his chest, smiling sweetly at her as he gently swayed back and forth.

Peter let out a sigh of relief; she’d be okay.


End file.
